“Don’t worry,” she said, and smiled at him.
For the first time, Field liked her, because, of course, his dress
At the top of the stairs, she led him into a room that was even bigger than the Long Bar at the Shanghai Club. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the track were all open in a fruitless attempt to air the room. In the center stood a table with a silver bowl big enough to bathe in, filled with flowers. At the far end was the biggest brick fireplace he’d ever seen.
The room was packed, so that most people were forced to shout to be heard, and she led him in the direction of the fireplace, clutching his hand and occasionally looking back at him and smiling.
Geoffrey was surrounded by a small group—all men—at the far end of the room. One was Charles Lewis, another a tall, thin man of Middle Eastern appearance with dark hair and a beard.
“Richard!” Geoffrey stepped forward to greet him, the circle widening a fraction. “Charlie you know.”
“Good evening,” Lewis said.
“And this is Simon Hayek, you may remember from the other night at the council meeting.”
They shook hands, the man’s dark eyes scrutinizing his face.
“You’re in the Crime Branch?” Hayek asked.
“No . . . not normally.”
“You’re a detective . . . political?”
“We were just discussing,” Geoffrey said, “whether General Chiang Kai-shek was secretly a Red. You probably have views on that.”
They were looking at him.
“It’s not really an area I’ve been working on.” Seeing the disapproval in their faces, Field changed tack. “But I would say that the department’s view is that he is cynical. He will use whomever he can to advance himself, disposing of them later. The Reds have support and money in the south and he will use that to try and unify the country under his rule. What happens then may be a different matter.”
“Or may not,” Hayek said. “Any more sign of protests?”
“I don’t think we are aware of any.”
They nodded vigorously.
“We’ve broken them,” Hayek said. “We said a bit of steel would sort them out and we were right, Borodin or not.”
Field was not so certain that the unrest was over for good or that the decision to open fire on protesters last year had been a good one.
“And that’s what we need now,” Hayek went on, “to show Chiang and the Reds and anyone else with designs on China that they’re not going to get their bloody hands on the Settlement and that is final.” Hayek looked to Geoffrey for approval, but appeared to get no reaction. “Lu Huang runs around the city like he damned well owns the place, and no one says boo to him.”
This time Geoffrey nodded.
“If anyone thinks he’s an insurance policy, then forget it.”
“He’s close to Chiang,” Lewis said. “We know that. He has links with the Reds.”
“He’s a bloody gangster.”
“He’s getting too big for his boots,” Geoffrey said. “That’s certainly true. It’s sending the wrong signals.”
Penelope Donaldson straightened. “Communism will come to China, as surely as it came to Russia. And if you don’t believe that, then you’ve learned nothing.”
There was silence in their small circle.
“Penelope,” Lewis said, turning slowly toward her, “you know, I never saw you as a Bolshevik.”
She melted immediately. “Look, are you boys going to talk politics all night?”
At that moment the band struck up. Lewis, who had begun to look bored, slipped away.
“Dickie?” Penelope asked.
She took his arm.
“I can’t . . .”
“Come on. I’ll teach you.”
She dragged him away as the band seemed to gather steam, settling into a frantic beat.
“Richard.” It was Geoffrey. Field paused, watching Penelope disappear into the crowd on the dance floor. “I’ve got some work to do—tedious stuff. Would you mind looking after her for me, see she doesn’t get into any trouble?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“She hates it when I desert her and, anyway, I can’t dance.”
“Yes. Of course.”
He laughed. “Make sure she doesn’t damned well drink too much.”
